The Judas Strain - James Rollins [24]
Crap…
Monk hurried back to him. “C’mon. We’ve no time to dress it. Can you walk?”
Graff spoke between clenched teeth. “As long as they don’t shoot me in the leg.”
With some help, the two crawled through the vine drape and into the tunnel. The temperature dropped a full ten degrees. Monk kept a grip on Graff ’s elbow. The man trembled and shook, but he followed Monk’s lead and hurried up the steps into the dark.
Behind them he heard the scrape of hull on sand and the victorious shouts of the pirates, confident their prey was trapped. Monk continued up, around and around, feeling in the dark.
It would not take long for the pirates to find the tunnel. But would they pursue or simply take off? The answer came soon enough.
Lights flared below…along with more furtive barked orders.
Monk hurried.
He heard the anger in the voices.
He had indeed pissed them off.
Slowly the darkness overhead turned to gray. Walls became discernible. Their pace increased. Graff was mumbling under his breath, but Monk could not understand the man’s words. A prayer, a curse…he would take either if it would work.
At last the upper end of the stairs appeared. The pair burst out of the tunnel and into the fringe of rain forest that frosted the cliff. Monk pushed onward, grateful for the dense cover of the jungle. As he entered the forest, he saw the toxic kill zone was not limited to the beach below. Dead birds littered the forest floor. Near his toes lay the furred body of a flying fox, crumpled like a crashed jet fighter.
But not all the forest’s denizens were dead.
Monk stared ahead. The forest floor churned and eddied in a red tide of its own. But this was no bacterial bloom. Millions of crabs covered the forest floor, every square inch. Some were latched onto trunks and vines.
Here were the missing Christmas Island red crabs.
Monk remembered his earlier study. Throughout the year, the crabs remained docile until aroused or stirred up. During their annual migration, the crabs were known to slash tires of passing cars with their razor-sharp claws.
Monk took a step back.
Stirred up described the crabs at the moment. They climbed all over one another, agitated, snapping. In a feeding frenzy.
Monk now understood why the creatures were missing from the beach below. Why go down when there was plenty to eat up here?
The crabs not only feasted on the dead birds and bats—but also on their own brothers and sisters, in a cannibalistic free-for-all. At the men’s appearance, massive claws lifted in warning, snapping like broken sticks.
Welcome to the party!
Behind them, from the tunnel opening, excited voices echoed forth.
The pirates had spotted the tunnel’s end.
Graff took a step forward, clutching his shoulder. A large crab, hidden under a fern leaf, swiped at his toe and cleaved clear through the plastic.
The doctor retreated back, mumbling under his breath again. It was the same mantra as on the stairs, only now Monk understood it…and couldn’t agree more.
“We really should have rubbed that Buddha’s belly.”
3
Ambush
JULY 5, 12:25 A.M.
Takoma Park, Maryland
“WHAT THE HELL is going on?”
“I don’t know, Dad.” Gray hurried with his father to close the carriage doors to the garage. “But I intend to find out.”
The two had hauled the assassin’s motorcycle into the garage. Gray had not wanted the bike left in the open. In fact, he wanted no trace of Seichan left here. So far there had been no sign of whoever had shot her, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming.
He rushed back to his mother. As a biology professor at George Washington University, his mother had taught plenty of pre-med students and knew enough to belly-wrap Seichan’s wound in order to stanch any further hemorrhaging.
The assassin hovered at the edge of consciousness, drifting in and out.
“It looked like the bullet passed clean through,” his mother said. “But she’s lost a lot of blood. Is the ambulance on its way?”
Moments ago Gray had made an emergency call